


I just can’t wait (for love to destroy us)

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Office Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	I just can’t wait (for love to destroy us)

Soft jazz fills the space of the coffee shop that you find yourself in, and though normally you’d find yourself soothed and at ease with the melodic sound, today you’re nothing short of on edge. It’s your first day working for First Order Management, Boston’s largest hedge fund firm, and the last thing that you want to do is be late. Another quick glance down to your phone alerts you to the fact that you have all but twenty minutes left until your starting time—which means you have five minutes to grab your drink and head across the street if you want to leave a good impression.

But you can’t, you won’t get there on time, you’re sure of it, and it’s all thanks to the jackass at the front of the line who’s currently arguing with the baristas about his incorrect order.

“What I _said_ was that I wanted a _flat white_ . What you _gave me_ was a _blonde_ flat white.”

If your eyes could roll any harder, you’d swear they’d pop right on out of that head of yours. Pretentious asshole, you think to yourself, arms folding across your chest while your foot begins to tap against the tiled floor. You can hear the barista stammering their way through an apology, but the words that follow seem to ignite a heated flame in the man who’s order had apparently been _so_ wrong.

“I c-checked the order. We did make you a flat wh—”

“You didn’t! I know the difference in the flavors, and what you gave me was incorrect!”

Another glance to your phone informs you that you no longer have time to mess about. It’s either get your coffee or leave, and you’re verging on being forced to accept the latter at this rate. With a frustrated huff, you lower one arm down to your side, setting your other hand on your hip just as you cock it out to the side. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of mucking about over frivolous things like which blend of coffee got used. Either take your coffee or go to the back of the line and try again. The rest of us actually have jobs to get to. On time, I might add.”

The back of the man who’d spent his time arguing straightens immediately, the fabric of the navy suit that he wears stretching across broad shoulders, and it’s then that you notice that he’s much, much taller than you’d initially anticipated. It takes him a moment, but eventually, he turns to glance over his shoulder, dark eyes locking with your own. You lift a single brow as if daring him to challenge you. The muscles of his jaw twitch with visible irritation, though he says nothing in reply. Instead he grabs his coffee and, without so much as a thank you to the barista, makes his way out of the coffee shop.

One final glance down to your phone alerts you to the fact that you’ve got all of two minutes to get your coffee and go. With an exasperated huff, you pivot on the balls of your feet and vacate the line to step back outside into the rush of people who filter up and down along the sidewalk amid the early morning rush hour. With any luck, you’ll be able to grab yourself some coffee from the break room once you’ve gotten settled into your first day of work.

Crossing the street, hurried steps carry you towards the grey steel high-rise that sits directly across the way from the coffee shop. Once inside, you take a moment to scan the board in the lobby that lists off each of the companies that reside within, spotting First Order Management almost immediately at the top of the board. The ding of the nearby elevator pulls your attention away from the board, and the moment that your gaze slides over to find the doors opening, you dart off in order to file in with a few other businessmen and women. Directing the individual closest to the button panel to push the appropriate floor for your departure, you wait patiently, gaze cast upward to watch the red LED screen above the door as it chimes when it passes each floor, stopping intermittently to let off some of the other passengers until it’s just you and one other woman remaining.

Your eyes drift downward to the button panel to find only one final button illuminated. “Looks like we’re headed to the same place,” you say, mustering up a friendly tone to hide the nerves that threaten to bubble up.

The tall blonde who stands on the opposite end of the elevator from you gives you a sideways glance before exhaling a less than enthusiastic _hmph_ in response. The smile that’d found its way to the surface only mere seconds ago falters before you push it back up, extended a hand out to introduce yourself.

Again, the blonde gives you the same look as before, this time debating internally as to whether or not she’ll reciprocate the gesture. Eventually, she reaches forward to take your hand in her own, giving it a quick, albeit sturdy shake. “Phasma,” she says, the only word that she utters to you on the entirety of your trip to First Order Management.

You release her hand begrudgingly at her cold demeanor, but determined not to let her behavior ruin your day before it’s even really begun, you flick your gaze back up to the LED numbers that still tick up and up until you finally hear the familiar ding of the elevator. When the doors part, you let her step out before you, following behind Phasma until you reach the reception area. The woman behind the desk is decidedly more friendly than Phasma, the smile you’re greeted with one that you’re more than happy to return. Exchanging a greeting, you extend your hand and introduce yourself just as you’d done in the elevator. Jannah, you find out the woman’s name is.

“I’m a new hire,” you inform her as you release your hold on her hand, your own dropping down to your side. “I’m the new executive assistant for Mr. Ren.”

The smile on Jannah’s face instantly fades, and you watch as her gaze slides to the clock on her computer monitor. “You’re early,” she says, her gaze lifting to meet yours as the smile reappears. “That’s good. He’ll appreciate that. Follow me.”

As if on instinct, your hands smooth out the fabric of your skirt as you follow close behind Jannah, the two of you weaving your way through the office space until you reach a closed mahogany door. Jannah lifts her hand to knock her knuckles against the wood three times before a deep voice calls for her to come in. She pushes the door open and steps in, motioning for you to join her.

“Sir, your new Executive Assistant is here.” She introduces you by name, but her words fade into the background as your eyes widen at the sight of the man in front of you. It’s clear as day, the same recognition in his eyes as his own widen almost imperceptibly.

It’s the same blue suit, same broad shoulders from the coffee shop. No. _No, no, no_. This cannot be how you’d had your first impression.

Once the initial, fleeting look of shock passes across his face, the corners of his mouth curl upwards into the beginnings of a smirk. “Yes, I believe we may have met earlier in the day.”

You can feel your face heat, embarrassment washing over you at how you’d spoken to him this morning. Clearing your throat, you put on your best smile and step forward, offering him your hand to introduce yourself, hoping like hell you could put this morning’s events behind you and start anew.


End file.
